


Not "Kon" Conner

by wisia



Series: Replacement [2]
Category: DCU
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-11-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:57:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wisia/pseuds/wisia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conner Kent was pulled from his world into the DC universe. Getting home was going to be hard. And Red Robin only made that even harder. Very loosely based on astolat’s Reconcilable Differences/Lazarus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Lazarus](https://archiveofourown.org/works/240924) by [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat). 



> This is the more serious version of The Replacement. And I don’t know…somehow it’s gotten weirder as I wrote it. And evil Tim. Yeah, evil Tim felt like a good idea. Or maybe it’s twisted Tim. I thought I’ll try it in contrast to all the evil Kon. I don’t know what I’m saying…but that doesn’t appear to chapter two. And my chapters are short. I can’t write long chapters to save my life. TT

**  
**

                “Abysmal,” Luthor commented, finally looking up from the reports on Conner’s progress. Conner hid a grin. The man had set a three month course to educate and integrate Conner Kent as Kon-el, but Conner was doing a magnificent job of fudging his lessons. He assumed that Luthor would explain the lack of superpowers as a side effect of “coming back to life”, but he refused to allow him to reach the presentation stage.

                He shrugged carelessly as Luthor continued, “there’s no way you can be this…”

                “Stupid,” Conner finished. Luthor frowned as if the adjective was blasphemy.

                “I did the calculations,” Luthor said shortly. He put the reports down and studied Conner with a critical eye. “You are the closest counterpart to Kon. You cannot be  _stupid_.”

                “Counterpart,” Conner repeated, pulling his face into a wide eye look. “You don’t see your  _mistake_? And I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

                Luthor glared at him, and Conner bit back a laugh as he went on, “I’m not your Superboy. I’m a dumb kid. I don’t have your intelligence.”

                Really. How could he be stuffed with genius at birth? He was from a normal world, not a crazy one where superheroes and supervillains actually existed.

                “Hm,” Luthor ticked. He spun his chair away from the desk to face the window over looking Metropolis. “I’m going to Milan in a few days.”

                And Conner didn’t care what an evil bald villain did. He just wanted to get home as much fun as it was to annoy the dude.

                “Okay,” he said. “I hope you die.”

                He really did hope that, but Conner knew it wasn’t likely. Comic book characters—so resistant to death. Luthor chuckled. “It’s not that type of meeting.”

                “Right,” Conner said, rolling his eyes. “If that’s all, I’m going.”

                As Conner headed for the door, Luthor called back to him. “Kon.”

                “It’s  _Conner_.” He gritted his teeth. This bald villain just wasn’t going to let it go, would he? He wasn’t a fucking replacement for anyone.

                “ _Kon_. Please stop pretending to fail your lessons.”

                “Then  _please_  send me back.”

                “No. I’ll see you in three days.”

                Conner slammed the door as hard as he could. He grinned when he heard something crashed in its wake. He hoped it was expensive.

\---------------

                The day Luthor left for the airport, Conner was ready. He annoyed that day’s tutor to a level he hadn’t tried before. When she left out of frustration, Conner finally breathed. He logged onto the computer and started flicking up porn sites. As a distracter—though that one looked pretty good. He’ll have to remember to check it out later. When he wasn’t planning his escape. After thirty minutes of mindless browsing and opening random porn sites, Conner cracked his fingers and hurriedly cut his way through the system.

                “Improve my grades?” Conner cackled. “You’re going to regret it.”

                He hit the enter key and grinned as the cameras was endlessly looped to the thirty minutes of Conner looking at porn. No one steals Conner Kent from his own world without paying for it. Especially when you don’t know what he can do. He wasn’t Superboy but, hey—he was  _just_  as good. A few more taps, and Conner had successfully secured his exit.

                Once he managed to get outside, Conner half skipped in joy. He was free! Then, he slapped himself. He had to find Superman before Luthor found him. He tapped a man walking by on the shoulder.

                “Excuse me, sir?”

                “Uh, yes?” The man looked at him strangely. Conner smiled at him. “Which way’s the Daily Planet?”

                The man pointed, and Conner thanked him before darting into a run. Yes! It won’t be much longer before he would be home.

                He crashed into someone in his glee and blind hurry. The other person fell to the ground.

                “S-sorry!”

                Conner looked down at the poor person he knocked over. The man was on the thin side and disturbingly familiar.

                “Let me help you up,” and he held out his hand. The man didn’t take it. Instead, he stared at Conner, face pale and gaunt.

                “Kon…,” he whispered. And Conner realized he was looking at Red Robin. So, this is what the man looked like in real life compared to comics? He shook his head.

                “I’m not,” Conner half stammered as Red Robin got up and observed him warily.

                “You’re not Kon?” He asked dubiously.

                “No,” Conner shook his head. “Is there some place we can talk?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Debut of sinister Tim. Because in my head, he’s twisted and after all that tragedy, he’ll jump on Conner. And this chapter is even shorter...well, I'll try to write longer chapters in the future. But who knows how that'll go. Sorry.

**  
**

                “You are not my Kon.”

                It was a statement, not a question. Conner nodded anyway. They were in a small diner, and he was grateful Red Robin was willing to hear him out. He hoped this mean he could go home soon, but Tim’s jaw was tight as he processed the information. Then Tim spoke, the words slicing for a simple query. “How did you get here?”

                “Luthor,” Conner answered. “A device to travel multi-verse.”

                He fiddled with his napkin, food untouched even though the waitress served them ten minutes ago.

                “I’m not exactly sure how it worked. I didn’t get a chance to look at it. But you could probably hack into his system and find it.”

                “Ah,” Tim said, leaning forward, elbows on the table and hands folded. He studied Conner with such a deep intensity, Conner could feel his skin crawling from the gaze. There was something in Tim’s voice as he continued, “he didn’t clone you?”

                Conner snorted. “No, of course not. I’m just having delusions of a world where you’re all freaking comic book characters!”

                He dropped the napkin, and Tim was apologetic. “No—I just thought we had the means to clone…I never thought of multi-verse.”

                There was a catch in Tim’s breath, and Conner remembered. Red Robin was extremely upset during the Infinity Crisis. He lost quite a number of people.

                “If it helps,” Conner said gently, “in one universe you planned to use the Lazarus pits. You didn’t do it in the end though. Because it wouldn’t have been your Kon anyway.”

                Tim pursed his lips. “No. It wouldn’t. And the Lazarus pits? That’s stupid. You would have emerged from it barking mad.”

                “Not me,” Conner interjected. “Your Kon, not me.”

                Tim shrugged half lazy in his protest. “Not much difference. You are still him in some form.”

                “Sure,” Conner scoffed. “Can you get me back?”

                “Perhaps.” Tim stirred his milkshake with his straw carefully. Deliberately. There was a gleam in his eye that made Conner worried. And there it was.

                “There’s a price.”

                “What kind of price?”

                “You.” Tim said simply.

                “Me?” Conner was flabbergasted. Tim sipped his milkshake calmly. “Yes, you.”

                Conner felt a shiver run down his spine. In this universe…

                “Were you…with  _him_?”

                Tim’s face was blank, and Conner couldn’t read it.

                “Eat your food,” Tim ordered. “You can stay with me while we figure this out.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh…how do I describe it? Questionable things going on and sex.

**  
**

                Staying with Red Robin wasn’t what Conner expected, given the man’s strange statement. For starters, the man had done nothing yet and certainly not any of the risqué dirty evil things Conner was imagining from that simple “you”. It was a tame first few days of Conner coming to live at Crime Alley (and wow, that was cool—this was where Batman started). It was just things like settling in.  _And clothes_.

                The clothes disturbed Conner. It disturbed him that he fit them rather well, but that shouldn’t have been an amazement—it was more amazing that Tim had a closet full of the other Conner’s clothes. Superboy’s clothes. Except, it really wasn’t. Conner, of course, resolutely ignored the jeans and the infamous shirt. He wore the few slacks and button up shirts (that weren’t red or plaid) in the pile. He didn’t want to give Red Robin any reminders or funky ideas, even if the man hadn’t done a thing so far.

                And Conner hadn’t actually spent all that much time with Red Robin. The man was absent half the time. He knew from the comics and fan speculations, Red Robin was a very busy dude, but you would think a guy living with the man himself would see him more. Not to mention, it was eating away at Conner. For all he knew, Tim could just be waiting to cash in on Conner’s end of the deal in a giant way. Why the fuck did he agreed?

                He sighed and stared at his borrowed laptop morosely. Conner was looking at other options, just in case he couldn’t return to his world. There wasn’t much. The only sure proof way was for Tim to create an actual identity so he was legal and legit as a person in the world. No way in hell was he taking over Superboy’s identity like Luthor wanted. And he didn’t think he could hack himself an identity—not without a certain superhero knowing.

                There was a muffled groan, and Conner snapped his head around wary. A vigilante’s household didn’t mean safety as he had read. He found Tim bleeding, stumbling his way in. Conner jumped to his feet, supporting the man. He so didn’t have the muscles for this even if Tim was on the small size.

                “Are you okay? What happened?”

                “Knife to the side,” Tim gritted out. “Help me to the bathroom.”

\----------

                “I thought you said it was a knife?” Conner exclaimed. The wound was nasty, jagged and bleeding profusely. Conner pressed a clean towel against it, trying to staunch the bleed.

                “It was a serrated knife,” Tim said with a slight grimance.

                “Where’s your first aid?”

                “Under the sink,” Tim sighed. He pressed down more firmly on the towel. It was getting to be a bit too saturated for Conner’s liking. “It’s like you don’t know where it is.”

                “Because I didn’t have a reason to,” Conner replied, pulling the kit out. He slammed the door closed and turned his attention the wound. Tim wouldn’t budge his hand though.

                “Hey, move your hand.”

                Conner glanced up and Tim…was in shock. Not the life threatening shock, but the regular still heart thumping one. Time’s eyes were glassy, and he was looking at Conner as if he wasn’t real. Conner tensed.

                “I—you sound just like him,” Tim said hoarsely. Conner relaxed slightly, laughing. “Well, I’m his counterpart you know.”

                He pushed Tim’s hand, and Tim moved his hand this time. He started cleaning the cut.

                “Yeah,” Tim said softly. “I know.”

                Conner worked in silence, and he let Tim take over to stitch up the wound, seeing as Conner had no idea how to do that. He was severely impressed. The reality of superheroes and what they had to do—it was a revelation Conner kind of understood more now. Since he was actually here and all.

                He rummaged through the shelves in the mirror cabinet and scored when he found the painkillers. He dropped them when he felt Tim scooted behind him.

                “Sorry—I—you should take these pain pills,” Conner said, maneuvering himself away. He picked up the bottle and held it out to Tim—arm’s length.

                “I don’t want it,” Tim said. He took the bottle and tossed it behind him, perfectly into the bathtub.

                “Uh, do you want sleep? Food?”

                Conner had a feeling he should be running. Not staying in a small bathroom with a Red Robin hyped on pain and possibly delirium.

                “You really are like him,” Tim mused contemplatively. He took a step forward. Conner took a step back.

                “But I’m not him.” Conner reminded him. Tim nodded. “Not exactly. Kon didn’t know how to hack.”

                It was worded as a question.

                “I’m a—it’s my major,” Conner explained. He backed up into the sink as Tim edged nearer. “Are you sure you don’t want those pain pills?”

                “Postive.”

                And Tim was kissing him. He shoved.

                “What the hell?”

                This wasn’t real.

                “Claiming my end of the deal,” Tim said evenly, sliding a tongue out to lick his lips. “You do want to go home, don’t you?”

                “I…” Conner should have run.

                “You can go back to Luthor if you wish,” Tim added. He slowly passed Conner out of the bathroom, pausing at the door. “ _But he’s worse_.”

                His eyes raked down Conner’s body leisurely. “Much worse, and you’re not even a meta.”

                Conner swallowed hard as Tim purred out a dangerous “well?”

                “What do you want?” He responded gruffly. He wasn’t going to be intimidated or bowled over by a freaking comic book character. He knew all the guy’s secrets.

                “I told you. I want you. As long as you’re here.”

                Conner didn’t respond. Tim left.

                “I’m going to sleep. Let me know in the morning.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh…how do I describe it? Questionable things going on and sex. Maybe straying toward dubious consent slightly?

**  
**

                Conner didn’t see Tim in the morning. The man was gone. Again. Doing another disappearing stint. And it made Conner felt as if he dreamt the entire thing, but that was bullshit because everything about this felt like a dream. Or some sort of deranged surrealism. And he knew he didn’t dream up whatever the hell happened last night because there were bloody bandages in the bathroom trash can and the bottle of painkillers was still in the bathtub where Tim had thrown it.

And the man even left waffles! In the kitchen. As if he didn’t ask Conner to make a horrible choice between Luthor and him. He had stabbed at the waffles angrily, trying to sort it out. Because Tim’s absence meant he had more time. To decide. To figure out what to do. But instead, he thought of the long jagged wound. The man shouldn’t be out so fast. So soon. And Conner hoped he wasn’t bleeding everywhere.

                Conner ended up waiting. He waited, full up on coffee and watching stupid late night shows. He wanted to talk to Tim. To get it over with. He didn’t want to go to Luthor. But he didn’t want to be a substitute for Superboy either. That just wasn’t healthy or right. He listened to the tick of the clock hanging on the wall. Tim still wasn’t back from wherever the hell he went. He bet it didn’t drive Superboy mad because Superboy could actually listen in on Tim.

                He didn’t manage to stay awake. When he woke, he realized he was in a different bedroom. Tim’s bedroom.  _Untouched_. He was extremely relieved by that. As Conner’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, beginning sunlight poking through the curtains in slivers, he noticed Tim.

                Tim sat next to the bed, gaze in an entirely blue intensity. One hand gripped the edge of the chair’s seat, and the other hugged his injured side protectively.

                “Morning,” he said, addressing Conner’s awakening, voice rough as if he hadn’t slept all night. Conner wondered how long Tim had sat there watching him sleep.

                “Morning. Did—are you feeling better?”

                The clumsiness of Conner’s words echoed in the room’s stillness. The window was opened, and as the wind blew the curtains to sway, lines of light danced along the wall and Tim’s features.

                “This is better than normal,” Tim said, shrugging.

                “Better? How is this better?”

                “I thought you knew. You read the comics?” He raised an eyebrow as if Conner had been lying.

                “ _It’s a comic_ —it doesn’t show everything.” Conner pushed the blankets down a little, shuffling till his back rested against the headboard. “I don’t think people want to read five pages of you brushing your teeth with internal monologue.”

                Tim laughed. It was low and dark, and Conner remembered.

                “You weren’t here when I woke up.”

                “Things to do.” Tim waved a hand flippantly. Then, he was serious. “You’ve reached a decision?”

                He leaned forward. The motion was a ripple that resembled a predator’s twitch before a pounce. Conner shifted, back pressed more firmly against the headboard.

                “You know I never had a choice.”

                Conner didn’t. Not when he was Superboy’s counterpart. When he was stuck in this world with only Red Robin for help.

                “And you know  _exactly_  what kind of person I am,” Tim returned. There was something in the way Tim said it that realized Conner to the fact  _he did_. And it was the third option.

                “I do,” Conner said. “What are you going to do about it?”

                Because Conner had the hand. The world was a different Earth, but it was similar enough to the original DCU storyline. And Conner had more than an inkling on Tim Drake.

                Tim flinched, and Conner was pleased. He could definitely turn this around. He refused to let himself be jerked around by comic characters when he knew it all. But Conner also didn’t have the heart to play games, so he cut straight directly to the point.

                “I want proof,” Conner said abruptly. “That you are working on sending me home.”

                Tim pursed his lips, calculating. “Acceptable. Now?”

               “Later. I don’t think you’ve even slept at all.” Conner eyed the spot where Tim’s hand was still protecting the injury. “As long as you show me.”

                Tim nodded. Then, he lifted the blankets and crawled onto the bed. Conner’s eyebrows shot straight up as Tim tucked himself next to Conner’s side.

                “Relax,” Tim mumbled amused. “You’re insane if you think I had the energy for  _that_  right now.”

                Conner huffed. “You’re the one in my bed.”

                “My bed,” Tim corrected. He placed his head on Conner’s chest, an arm loosely slung over Conner’s middle. “Now shut up.”

                Conner looked down, feeling slightly guilty. The man lost everything and here he was looking like Superboy. And he knew all the man’s secrets. Conner exhaled slowly, tentatively placing a hand on Tim’s head. He smoothed out the locks with his fingers. A “thanks, Kon” slipped out of Tim’s mouth.

                “I’m not Kon, you sleepy dumbass,” Conner sighed, but Tim was already fast asleep. 


	5. Chapter 5

 

                When Conner woke for the second time, the sunlight streaming in that morning was mostly faded. A quick glance at the clock revealed it was two thirty six in the afternoon. His neck and back was stiff, and Tim’s head was a heavy weight on his lap having drooped down from his chest. The man was still sleeping, and Conner wasn’t sure if he should stay there or if he could move. He kind of needed to use the bathroom…

                Just when he decided damnit, he had to go, he had to go, Tim stirred.

                “Kon,” he said sleepily, and Conner felt a stab of guilt as he answered. “Not Kon. Conner.”

                With that, Tim’s body seized into a stiff board before resuming its limp form. There was a stretch of silence, and Conner slowly maneuvered himself from Tim.

                “I’ll be back.”

                Tim didn’t protest. But all through the throw up late lunch Conner put together, he could feel the entire whoa—I’m thinking very hard here—don’t bother me waves. It wasn’t till Conner was putting away the last dish to drain that Tim spoke. So quietly and abruptly it near scared Conner.

                “Will he come back?”

                “What?”

                And Tim looked annoyed at having to repeat himself. “Will my Kon come back?”

                Conner thought for a moment, wondering how to answer. Wondering how did Tim think to ask that. But then, he didn’t need to think.

                “I don’t know,” Conner said slowly. He was going to lie, and the flash of something in Tim’s eyes heralded it in. “I actually skimmed over that section. Of Superboy’s death.”

                It was better to lie than to tell the truth. And it wasn’t like Conner knew anyway. If Superboy would come back in this universe.

                “Oh,” and Tim’s voice was so sad, despair and angst filled. It gave Conner the sudden urge to hug him. He imagined that this is what the fangirls felt.

                “Sorry,” he said bluntly and rubbed the back of his neck anxiously.

                “Anyway,” he rushed to change the subject, “since you’re finally free, do you think you could, maybe, give me an id?”

                “What for?” And with that Tim looked more composed now, more reigned in.

                “In case I can’t go back to my world, I need options—I need to go to school. And I have no real ID here.”

                You better not give me his identity, Conner thought inwardly. Because even if Tim was smart, he wasn’t going to pin his hopes on that. Not when it seemed this Tim was so desperate and crazy. He might just try to keep Conner here. To replace Superboy.

                “I’ll work on it.”

                There was a shift in Tim’s eyes, and Conner unconsciously stepped back, throwing the cloth he used to wipe the table into the sink.

                “Thanks,” and the word felt stilted in the air as Tim eyed him.

                “And you shouldn’t forget what you own me.”

                Conner didn’t. So, he stepped forward. Closer. Till he was leaning across the table. Facing Tim's face directly.

                “I haven’t.”

                And Tim automatically pressed his lips to Conner. It was slow, languorous and so very wrong for a meeting of just lips because there were no tongues. And there wouldn’t be tongues for  _this_. This change, this acknowledgement. Conner kept his lips glued to Tim’s, watched as Tim’s eyelids closed, knew that he was remembering, imagining, pretending. And even if he didn’t have super ears, Conner caught the way Tim went breathless, trembled at this simple touching.

                He wasn’t Superboy, but he knew Tim Drake as he read him, interpreted him, and knew when he finally pulled away that if he went home, Tim Drake would die, an empty husk.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For amethystdaydream. Thanks dearie. <3  
> [And thanks to Meeya for help with a troublesome section.]

 

                A few days later, Conner sat at the kitchen table, just thinking, when Tim came in, folder in hand. There was a smug look on his face as if he just accomplished something great.

                “Here,” he said and he passed the folder to Conner, sliding it across the table. Conner looked at it curious.

                “What is it?”

                And Tim stepped closer, leaning over Conner. Purposely. Into his personal space. Languidly, he cracked open the manila cover, arm resting on Conner’s shoulder, light and warm. Pressing.

                “It’s what you asked for,” Tim said, amusement leaking through his voice. “Your profile so you can exist here.”

                “Oh,” Conner said and he stared at the sheets. At the slender pale finger running down the information that he would need to memorize. He couldn’t help but noticed the last name.  _Draper_. That he would be given a part of Tim’s identity. All because he was like Superboy.

                On one hand he was relieved. That he wasn’t given Superboy’s identity, but this was…

                “Is it acceptable?” Tim purred into Conner’s ear. His lips were close, and Conner knew. Knew what Tim was trying to do.

                “You want me to pay what I own now?”

                With ease, as if Conner had practiced it, he backed up his chair, pulling Tim into his lap. Trapping Red Robin between the table and his body. He could practically feel Tim’s skin sizzled at the contact. And he kissed Tim on the lips, felt the shift of the smaller man’s body against his. Tim pulled back.

                “Ha,” Tim laughed. His chest rose up and down, trying to recover from Conner’s sudden kiss, and his eyes were darkly blue as they analyzed Conner. “You would kill me, wouldn’t you?”

                “I wouldn’t,” and Conner was cupping his cheeks. Feeling, wondering. Marveling. Did a Tim exist in his world?

                “Don’t lie to me. I know you’ll go back.”

                “Oh?” Conner had to scoff. “You think I should stay?”

                 And at that Conner could read it all too clearly in Tim’s face. That he was Superboy in appearance, reflected in Tim’s eyes. It made him angry. To see himself as Superboy instead of Conner Kent in those eyes. Those damn blue eyes. Harshly, Conner slammed into it hard. Hitting Tim where he knew it hurt.

                 “To be your replacement? Like you are for Jason?”

                Tim’s eyes widen, his grip on Conner’s arms slacken and falling away.

                “You…,” he whispered.

                “You don’t think I know? You may not be the Tim Drake I’ve read, but it’s close enough.”

                He watched as Tim swallowed hard, and Conner let him go. Moved Tim onto the table. Moved to get away, but Tim’s hand was tight on his wrist. And that just made Conner even more pissed. So he kissed Tim. Kissed him with tongue and teeth and bites.

                “Do I taste like him?” Conner asked, pulling back. Tim’s lips were swollen and red, light puffs of breath emitted as he stared at Conner.

                “No. No, you don’t.”

                “But I’ll bet you’ll call his name if I took you now,” Conner said and watched as Tim flinched.

                “I—,” Tim started and gave up. He pulled Conner back for another kiss. Just as angry, just as fiercely as Conner had kissed him prior.

                It didn’t matter. And Conner let him, knowing that Tim could mark him in ways that Superboy never would have been marked.


	7. An interlude from somewhere

"You have a scar?" 

And Conner looked up to see Tim's face, questioning and amazed, gaze intent on Conner's arm. There right below the elbow, running across in a diagonal to underarm flesh was a thin white scar about two inches long.

"Yes," Conner said quickly. And he quickly pulled the sleeve of his shirt down, hiding it from sight. Tim's hand reached out, catching the cloth.

"Don't," he whispered. And Conner let him. Let him pulled up the sleeve, pushing it back. Let him stare. Study the scar in the most revealing manner. Because Tim could read everything, and Conner wasn't his Kon. Not at all.

"It's nothing," Conner said hastily and dragged his arm away. "Got it when I was six. Bicycle accident."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," Tim said quietly. "I don't have many of those type of scars."

"I don't suppose you would," Conner said, reflecting on all the scenes he had read. The man even lost a spleen. Though not in this universe.

"No," Tim nodded. He looked at Conner. "I wish I could have left my mark on him."

And Conner knew it was impossible. Because Kon was Superboy. And Superboy just couldn't have scars. Flawless. Unmarred. The perfect contrast to Tim. And he unwittingly said, "you can on me."


	8. An second interlude set somewhere in the present...

He did. As Conner predicted.

On every touch, every kiss and stroke and slide of skin Tim did. Called out Superboy’s name even if it was Conner doing the loving. Kept his eyes closed—as if looking at Conner would ruin the illusion. Had cried out harder and louder when Conner slammed into him aggressively. Always his name on Tim’s lips.

Kon.

His name that burst forth from those bruised lips and his name that came at every tease, every nip. Not his.

And Conner had pulled away from Tim’s body, gut wrenching at that. Left Tim on the kitchen table. The table still whole and in one piece because he wasn’t Superboy. But, it wasn’t like he was any better either. He had taken advantage of a grief stricken man – crazy and deluded and brilliant but still. The feeling rolled in Conner’s stomach.

That was why when Conner woke to the sound of clicking a few days later, he hesitated. He twisted in his blankets and pulled a pillow over his head, but he still couldn’t drown out that clickity clacking of Tim typing. Conner sighed and shuffled toward the edge of the bed.

He fell.

Conner cursed but picked himself off the floor, shook thoroughly awake. He couldn’t put this off anyway. He followed the sound to Tim’s study, dragging his blanket with him.

Tim sat in front of the only light source: his laptop which glowed a dead white. It made the room looked too chilly and deadly to enter, but Conner braced himself as he crossed the doorway.

“That’s bad for your eyes,” he commented and winced at how abrupt, how coarse the words came out. Tim tensed in his chair, hunching briefly but he smoothed it out.

“I’m used to it.”

Conner sighed, running a hand through his hair. How was he supposed to—was he even supposed to say anything at all about what happened?

Tim continued typing. “Is there anything you wanted?”

“No.”

And the word hung in the air, lonely and foreign. Conner turned to leave but he noticed the time on the screen. It read 4:13AM.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” He blurted out. He knew Red Robin was a superhero and all, but he was still just a human.

Another “no” was added to the air.

Tim seemed to notice that, so he went on: “I’m not going to the office tomorrow.”

That didn’t really excuse anything in Conner’s mind.

“And how long have you been up?”

Tim shrugged, and Conner sighed. He stepped forward, closer to Tim. With a smooth gesture, he deposited the blanket he had over Tim’s shoulders.

“It’s cold.”

“Thank you…Conner.”

Conner couldn’t help the smile that erupted on his face. His name, not his.


	9. Chapter 9

He had adjusted. It was a year barely, and Conner had adjusted to living with Tim, had adjusted to living in Gotham, had adjusted to living in a comic book world.

And it unnerved him, unsettled Conner that a year had passed, and he was so adjusted he didn’t notice the months fly.

Conner was going to attend Gotham University in Fall.

He wasn’t home.

And he was okay with that. Conner shouldn’t be okay with that. Even if his relationship with Tim had improved after that night. Because they were something to each other in this mess of things.

Conner should go home.

He mentioned it over dinner and watched as Tim’s fork clattered against the plate.

“We need to talk.”

Tim blinked, retrieved his fork calmly and placed another bite of pasta into his mouth. Chewed and swallowed before looking at Conner.

“About what?” He asked lightly, and Conner knew Tim knew what the talk was about.

“Your work,” Conner said, plunging into it. “On sending me home.”

“Oh.”

Tim continued to eat his pasta, and Conner waited. Tim cleared his entire plate for once in the space of thirteen minutes. Conner would have congratulated him normally because the man didn’t eat enough, and it was a trial just to get Red Robin to eat enough, but he didn’t have an answer. Tim was avoiding the question.

“Tim.” And Conner crossed his arms sternly. Stared at the man with his best ‘you better start talking now’ face.

“You should finish your food,” Tim said. He gestured at Conner’s untouched plate.

“Tim. Talk to me.”

Tim got up and put his dish into the sink carefully. He gripped the edge of the sink hard and stared out the open window of it.

“It’s not done yet,” he said, not looking at Conner. Then, “I’m going out. Don’t—“

“No,” Conner said. “You are not going out. Don’t give me that bullshit. You know I can’t stay here.”

There was an uneasy silence at that.

“Why not?” Tim asked suddenly. “Why can’t you stay? It’s not like you’re destroying the universe by being here.”

“Because I don’t belong here!” Conner snarled back. He stood up abruptly, chair knocked down and his untouched plate moved slightly from the movement.

Tim turned away from the sink. He looked into Conner’s eyes.

“You could belong here, Con. You’ve been here for a year already.”

And at that, Conner felt the air in him deflated. Rocked at that word. That he was Kon.

“I—I’m not a replacement for him,” Conner said slowly.


End file.
